What begins as a tribute to a public figure takes a delightfully absurdist turn into the poet’s pantry, where a can of tuna becomes the unlikely hero of a philosophical inquiry. Plahm plays with the everyman quality of the name “Charlie”—comfortable, neighborly, scholarly—before revealing its bearer: a tuna fish swimming in pantry darkness, awaiting metamorphosis into casserole form. The poem asks Shakespeare’s question (“What’s in a name?”) and answers it with mushroom soup and noodles. Yet beneath the humor lies genuine reflection on mortality, transformation, and the ways we achieve immortality through nourishment of others. Charlie’s “fate”—to vanish into a dish—becomes a kind of sacrifice, one rewarded by being remembered in whispers at the potluck. The poem’s greatest trick is making us care about a can of tuna while slyly suggesting that all of us, in our own ways, hope to be considered “delicious.”

A playful, surprising little poem that demonstrates Plahm’s range beyond the romantic and metaphysical. The central conceit—eulogizing a can of tuna—is handled with genuine wit, and the poem earns its humor without sacrificing craft. The progression from name to pantry to casserole to potluck immortality is structurally satisfying, and the whispered final line (“Charlie was delicious”) lands as both punchline and oddly touching epitaph. The meta-commentary about the poem’s unexpected direction—originally meant to honor Charlie Kirk—adds a layer of self-aware charm. Where the piece is less successful is in its brevity; the idea feels slightly underdeveloped, as if a longer meditation on transformation and legacy through food might have yielded deeper rewards. The “Postscript” somewhat undercuts the ending’s impact. Still, this is a delightful Monday morning distraction that finds philosophy in the pantry—exactly as promised.